<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Fray by MistressPandora</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22889419">The Fray</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressPandora/pseuds/MistressPandora'>MistressPandora</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gods of War [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Lord John Series - Diana Gabaldon, Outlander &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moderately sprinkled fluff, Non-Explicit Sex, Not terribly explicit anyway, There I Fixed It</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:09:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,804</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22889419</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressPandora/pseuds/MistressPandora</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What demon had made him say that? Lord John Grey excels at saying the Completely Wrong Thing to one Jamie Fraser.</p><p>After a horrendous fight in the stable of Helwater, Lord John stays an extra night to make amends with Jamie, if his friend will just hear him out. Set toward the end of <i>Lord John and the Brotherhood of the Blade.</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gods of War [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653670</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>130</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Fray</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeviSqueaks/gifts">LeviSqueaks</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story is lovingly dedicated to my dear <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaSqueaks/">LeviSqueaks</a>, whose complicity assuaged my guilt enough to get this down.</p><p>This story contains some spoilers for <i>Lord John and the Brotherhood of the Blade</i>, though I don't suspect it will ruin all that much for you. Lord John and Jamie have one hell of an argument in which Grey says the absolute worst thing possible. I couldn't stand to see them leave it like that, so here we've extended Lord John's stay an extra night and given him the opportunity to make it right.</p><p>There we have it, gentlemen. I have fixed it for you.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was full dark the next night and all of Helwater was silent when Lord John made his way down a back stair and out of the house. He’d had the devil of a time convincing Tom Byrd that he was quite capable of readying himself for bed, and yes, he intended to sit up for quite some time, thank you. He allowed Tom to take his coat from his shoulders, but waved away his attempts to unbind his hair. After three or four further protestations ending in a gentle but firm order to enjoy the rest of his evening, Tom had finally given it up with a skeptical, “Very good, my lord,” and closed the door behind him.</p><p>Grey carried no lantern, didn’t need it. The moon was high and half-full and a light still burned in the stable. Just one. He knew his way well, and could have found his way without the glow from the cracked door.</p><p>A round shape loomed to his left and he cast a glance in that direction. A wagon wheel. No, <em> the </em>wagon wheel. He swallowed his shame with considerable effort, bringing into its place the memory of Fraser’s face the moment before he’d punched him. It worked, and his heart ached for the man.</p><p>Questions soared through his mind, too fast to consider. Who had it been? When? How? Was he still alive? But then, the answers didn’t matter. If Fraser had wanted him to have those answers, he would already.</p><p>Lord John slowed his pace as he approached the barn door, walking as a man with a purpose, but not to hide his presence. An owl hooted somewhere nearby, and he lost count of a single heartbeat, his right hand going to the dagger at his waist on pure reflex. Except it wasn’t there. It had taken him an entire glass of wine to work up the courage to leave it behind. He <em> had </em>to leave it behind. The slightest perception of threat would shut this entire venture down before it could start.</p><p>His heart thundered in his chest, and as pain blossomed with each beat, he forced himself to take even breaths. It also would not do to pass out in the yard before he even got a chance to talk to Fraser. No. He had to make this right. He couldn’t leave things like this, couldn’t go back to London for the court-martial knowing the mess he’d left behind. He needed to rebuild this bridge. Needed his friend back.</p><p>And, being a gambling man, Grey was very sure that Fraser needed a friend too.</p><p>Christ. He was at the door.</p><p>Through the crack he saw that Jamie Fraser was indeed the only groom still awake. The towering Scot stood in the stall of a striking mare, brushing her dark mane and speaking to the horse in a low murmur. Grey couldn’t make out what he said, but by the rapid movement of his lips, the cadence of it and tilt of his head, he realized that Fraser was whispering in Gaelic. Fraser’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t look at the door. He knew he wasn’t alone.</p><p>No help for it then.</p><p>Lord John squared his shoulders and pushed the door open. The hinges gave a soft groan and Fraser looked up, strong arm still pulling the brush through the shining mane with a lazy sort of grace. “May I speak with you, please, Mr. Fraser?” Grey asked, voice low. He didn’t want to alert the other grooms in the loft who might not be quite asleep.</p><p>Fraser gave Grey back a level look, face entirely impassable, and set the brush on the stool next to him. “Of course, my lord,” he replied. </p><p>Grey detected the faintest of pauses before <em> my lord </em> but he made no indication that he noticed. Petty arrogance also wouldn’t do. He waited until Fraser was a handful of paces away, then went back out into the night, headed for the moonlit moor. He resisted the urge to pull his cloak tight around his shoulders. He wasn’t cold, and he refused to feed the anxiety brewing in his guts.</p><p>They walked for several minutes, Fraser behind and to the right of Grey. They didn’t speak. The night sang with insects and the odd owl and the sound of their boots swishing through the tall grass. Finally, the house and stable well out of view, Grey stopped near a copse of trees and gestured for Fraser to sit on a fallen log. The big Scot raised one ruddy brow before easing himself onto the far end of the log, staring up at Grey, waiting.</p><p>Lord John dithered--he frigging <em> dithered </em>--for at least a full minute before sinking down onto the opposite end of the dead tree. The height difference was what bothered him. He thought they felt more evenly matched when they were both sitting down.</p><p>“Is there something I can do for you, Major?” Fraser asked after another beat. Lord John had dithered too long. <em> Idiot </em>.</p><p>Grey took a deep breath and plunged in. “I believe I owe you quite an enormous apology, Mr. Fraser.” He couldn’t bring himself to meet the Scotsman’s eyes, not yet, and he sensed him draw up, but he remained silent. “Last evening I said a great many terrible things. I sought your ear because I value your honesty and because the trust I have in you is unlike that of any other person in the world. And when you gave me the honesty for which I asked you, I threatened you.” Lord John swallowed hard. He couldn’t bring himself to repeat it, the awful, demonic thing. It was emblazoned into both of their memories, and probably would be forever. There was nothing he could say or do to unmake the pain he had caused, but if he could dull some of the raw burn of it….</p><p>Grey licked his lips and continued the charge. “Christ, I don’t even know how to describe what I said to you. ‘Regrettable’ doesn’t do it justice and ‘lamentable’ is insufficient. Evil? Cruel?” Grey nodded to himself. “That may be closer to the heart of it.” He met Fraser’s eyes then. They were deep blue in the clear moonlight and heartbreakingly cold. Whatever Fraser was thinking or feeling behind those eyes, Grey had no notion. “I offer you my most sincere apologies, Mr. Fraser. And though I do not deserve it, I beg your forgiveness.”</p><p>Fraser’s eyebrows rose and he cracked the facade enough to show Lord John a glimpse of the surprise he felt. Grey resisted the urge to speak as the silence grew oppressive. He had to give Fraser time. If there was one thing he knew about James Fraser, it was that a strong offense would get him precisely nowhere.</p><p>When Fraser spoke at last, his voice was steady and low, and he held Lord John’s gaze without flinching. “Forgiveness is not limited to those who deserve it, Major, but for those who need it. I have forgiven men who have wronged me because they needed it but dinna deserve it. And I have forgiven others because I needed it. The latter is more difficult, I think. To forgive someone for the sake of your own soul requires a great deal of work. You have my forgiveness, Major.”</p><p>Grey studied the taller man’s face. He was sincere but still guarded. Fraser had unintentionally revealed his innermost thoughts to Grey only once, and that had been last night. The pain in his chest eased. “Is that for the sake of my soul or for yours?”</p><p>One corner of Fraser’s mouth quirked into half of a wry smile but there was no irony there. “Both,” he said simply.</p><p>Lord John smiled up at Fraser. God, he was beautiful. Even if Grey could ignore his striking physique--which he couldn’t, not for long anyway--Fraser was one of the most honorable men he had ever met. He was, without a doubt, a genuinely good man. Every fiber of Grey’s being ached to bring down that impenetrable wall, to share a brief moment of vulnerability with him. If he could just get a glimpse at it….</p><p>Except he had. For an instant, Grey had seen Fraser’s secret pain, and the knowledge of it made his blood run cold.</p><p>Lord John reached one hand into his pocket, removed his flask and unstoppered it, offering it to Fraser. “Will you share a drink with me, as friends?”</p><p>Some tension seemed to ease itself from Fraser’s shoulders. He returned Grey’s smile after a moment’s hesitation, and accepted the flask, his long fingers brushing Grey’s. Fraser took a pull from the flask and rolled the brandy around on his tongue before swallowing it with an appreciative nod. It was the last of the excellent brandy that von Namtzen had sent back with him to London following his recovery. Fraser passed the flask back to Grey, who took a much-needed swallow. The wine he’d drunk in his room to pass the time and steel his courage had quite deserted him.</p><p>The two men sat, passing the flask between them, listening to the sounds of the night prowl through the trees and grass around them. Grey made no attempt to track the time as it passed over the moor, allowing the quietude to begin healing the rift between them. As they drank, the bridge grew more solid until at last Lord John felt it sturdy enough to cross if he tread with extreme caution.</p><p>“May I speak earnestly with you, Mr. Fraser?”</p><p>“I’d expect no less from you, aye.” He handed the brandy back to Grey, who didn’t drink it. “Provided ye’ll be ne too offended an’ I do the same.”</p><p>Grey drew an X over his chest with one finger. “Cross my heart,” he replied. He ran his thumbs over the flask, studying it to avoid meeting Fraser’s eyes. Once more into the breach. “I have lain with a woman before. And while I found the experience vaguely satisfying in a mechanical sort of way, it was… empty.” He held up a hand. “And before you ask, no, I didn’t force myself on anyone.” </p><p>When Grey looked back up at Fraser’s eyes, they were impassive again, but the wall wasn’t there any longer. He passed the flask back, freeing his hands to twist Hector’s ring around his finger. Fraser remained silent, giving him the space to speak his mind at his own pace.</p><p>“My… inclinations… are not as they are because I do not respect or value women. I have a mother, whom I love, despite everything. Or perhaps because of everything. I have a cousin who is more a sister to me as my mother raised her. I adore my cousin. I’d go to the ends of the earth for her.” Lord John snorted. “I delivered her first child, for Christ’s sake.” He looked up at Fraser, whose face had morphed into the most comical expression of shock and confusion, mouth open as if a million questions would come tumbling out at once. </p><p>Grey shook his head, a wry smile twisting his lips. “Believe me,” he said, “It was quite by accident, against my better judgement, and rather without my consent. If I go the rest of my life without repeating that experience, it will be too soon, I assure you.” Fraser’s face relaxed by degrees. </p><p>“Please don’t misunderstand me, Mr. Fraser. I love my godson and nephews very much, but I would have been quite content to let the mysteries of childbirth remain mysterious.”</p><p>Fraser laughed, an enchanting sound that made Grey’s heart soar with pleasure. “Aye,” the Scot said. “Aye, I suppose that is so.”</p><p>Grey went back to spinning his ring on his finger in a ritualistic manner as if he could summon Hector to his side, could draw on his strength. “I did not choose to be...as I am. And I did fight it.” He cast his eyes skyward. “Who would choose this, by God? What kind of man would choose to live in this way? To be always on one’s guard, with the endless secrets, the lies.” He spat this last word onto the grass between them. “I hide what I am to protect my family from shame. Lord knows they’ve had enough of that without my exposure.” Fraser’s gaze was a patient weight on Grey’s heart. “I do not presume to play the martyr, and I do not believe myself to be a particularly virtuous man, but I try to do good where I can.”</p><p>Fraser made a kind of humming sound in his throat. It was skeptical, not particularly understanding, but he was listening, invited Grey to continue.</p><p>“I have been in love before, Mr. Fraser. And maybe it was base and unnatural as you say. And I was very young. But it was built on respect and tenderness and affection and it was <em> good </em>. When he died, so did a considerable piece of my soul. But I could not grieve for him. I could pay my respects, could mourn a fellow soldier, of course. But I could not seek the comfort of my family, could not let him live on in the sharing of memories. Because were I to speak those memories aloud in the company of others, I could not have concealed my true feelings. While that alone wouldn’t have seen me hanged for sodomy, the rumors and scandal would have been more than enough to ruin my brother’s already precarious career, to say nothing of my own reputation.”</p><p>Grey paused and sighed. Fraser handed him the flask, allowing Grey’s hand to linger over his fingers before retracting. Lord John nodded his thanks and took a steadying sip, the brandy warm and comforting as it went down. He couldn’t tell by looking at his friend if his words were having any marked effect, though he did not believe it was his imagination that Fraser’s icy expression seemed to have thawed. At least, he hoped he wasn’t imagining it.</p><p>Lord John drew in a breath and went on. This would be the tricky part. “You said that you do not believe men can love one another. I will never in this life--or the next, for that matter--ask you to share with me anything you do not wish to, and you may always depend on my complete discretion. Nor will you find any condemnation from me.” The fingers of Grey’s right hand ached and twitched with the need to touch Fraser, to ground them both in the contact, but that would set a flame to the powder keg. Instead, he corked the flask and set it on the log between them and laid his palms flat across his own legs, diverting his will to keep them still. </p><p>“I could not presume to compare the quantity or quality of love that I have known to that which you have for your wife.” The jealous green thing in Grey’s mind bristled at the mention of <em> the woman </em>, but he refused to pay it heed in Fraser’s presence. “Could the two come from some similar place?” He shook his head, at a loss. “I have no idea.”  </p><p>Fraser swallowed, and Grey thought he was clenching his jaw, thought he could see the muscles twitch in his face. Lord John pressed his fingers into the meat of his thigh so hard that his knuckles ached, so great was his desperate need to touch Fraser. <em> Steady </em>, he reminded himself.</p><p>“It would not surprise me in the slightest that you have never witnessed firsthand genuine love between men,” Grey went on. “Furthermore, it appalls me to think that someone--anyone--could inflict such cruel torment upon you as I suspect you endured.” The pain returned to Grey’s chest and he fought tooth and nail not to let it show that he was beginning to tremble.</p><p>Fraser inhaled a sharp breath through his nose but said nothing, drumming the stiff fingers of his right hand against his own leg with a dull tap. Grey sensed that he was coiled tight, prepared to strike, and only needed to make up his mind if he would go for Grey’s throat or reach into his chest and remove his still-beating heart.</p><p>“By and large, flesh heals, doesn’t it, Mr. Fraser? Bones mend, scars fade, and the body makes itself whole again. But wounds of the mind and soul are not so easily mended, are they?” </p><p>The tapping stopped, and for a moment so did Grey’s heart. Either he’d said the right thing--Christ, please have been the right thing--or he wouldn’t live long enough to find out if the shrapnel in his chest would kill him. </p><p>“I have seen the evil that men are capable of, regardless of their inclinations. The unlikelihood of our friendship, the unusual manner in which we have somehow formed a bond does not escape me. I care for you a very great deal and I hold whatever friendship you are able to return in the highest honor. Every single day at Ardsmuir I tried desperately to find you the villain that I was told you were and every single day I failed. You enraged me, and vexed me, and astonished me at every turn but I could not hate you.” Grey gave a brief, despairing kind of laugh, and Fraser’s eyes narrowed at him. Grey waited.</p><p>Fraser sighed, his powerful frame shifted lazily, like some very large lion who’s decided to grant clemency to a gazelle. “I wish that I’d kent you for a liar, Major, but I do not. A wounded soul doesna heal so easily, as you say. Ye’ve seen my back.”</p><p>Grey nodded and tried to repress the memory that he had been responsible for some of those scars, swallowed his rising gorge.</p><p>“The mending of that was simple by comparison. I’ve had to fight tooth and nail for my soul every day. It is only by the grace of God, constant prayer, and the unbreachable stubborness of my wife that I sit before you today.” Fraser’s voice grew more intense as he spoke, but he wasn’t angry. Thank Christ, he wasn’t angry. “You say men can love one another?” He scoffed. “Men are capable of a great many things, my lord. Aye, love of that sort I have never seen.”</p><p>The world stopped. The night fell silent. The grassy moor ceased whispering and the moon’s path across the sky arrested. Everything was calm and clear and Grey commended his soul to God. “If you would permit me, Mr. Fraser, I could show you.” </p><p>Fraser blinked at him. “Major,” he began. The next words to pass his lips would be outright refusal, so Grey hurried on. </p><p>“Please,” he said. “It’s just the two of us. Please call me John.”</p><p>That gave Fraser pause and he nodded. “Aye, as you say, John.”</p><p>Grey smiled. His Christian name sounded like something exotic and beautiful in Fraser’s thick Scots accent. “Thank you.” He raised his right hand, let it hover over Fraser’s left but did not touch him. “May I?” After a heartbeat’s consideration, Fraser nodded. </p><p>Moving very slowly, deliberately, Grey slid his hand under his friend’s, interlacing their fingers. The touch sent lightning through John’s veins and he kept very still, eyes fixed on Fraser for any sign that he had crossed a line, but his friend appeared calm. They both stared down at their joined hands, John terrified that he would wake up and be alone. But Fraser’s palm was warm against his skin, and though his grip was cautious, his heart clung to the other man like a lifeline. “I don’t propose to change the way you remember anyone else, could never presume to replace anyone that you have lost.” He trailed off, met Fraser’s astonishing blue eyes, and dove headlong into the fray. “Perhaps it will not be love that you feel, though that is what I offer you while I may. But I would show you tenderness and affection, if I could. If you would allow it.”</p><p>The two men leaned toward each other, knees touching and heads bowed toward each other. John held Fraser’s gaze and he could see that the Scot was considering John’s words carefully, turning over each one and examining it. The result was a wary expression, but the fact that John could read it showed how much of that wall Fraser had moved aside.</p><p>“John…”</p><p>“May I kiss you, Mr. Fraser?” John held his breath.</p><p>Fraser had stopped breathing, John was sure of it. When he spoke at last, it was little more than a whisper. “Aye then.”</p><p>Then John stopped breathing. He replayed the previous three seconds over and over again in his mind to be sure he’d heard right. He’d asked, yes, that did happen. And Fraser had consented.</p><p>Fraser had consented.</p><p>Grey reigned up on the eager swell within him, drew his mental sword on the urge to rush the other man, and held it at bay. With a final look at Fraser’s eyes, he leaned over the precipice and let go.</p><p>Fraser’s lips were warm and tasted of the brandy. His skin smelled of musky maleness, fresh hay, and clean horses. There was something else too that Grey couldn’t place, and he tried not to think too much about it. He might have compared reality to his dreams and involuntary fantasies, but he found he couldn’t because it didn’t matter in the slightest.</p><p>This was real, here, now, happening.</p><p>Without pulling away, John repeated the kiss, let it get warmer, wetter. He gave Fraser’s hand what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze and the strong fingers convulsed tighter around his. His left hand blindly found Fraser’s forearm and he laid it there, just below his elbow, the material of Fraser’s shirtsleeve rough under his fingers. The fabric was chilled in the night air, but the flesh beneath burned. John suddenly wanted nothing more than to wrap his cloak around the both of them and share that heat. But he didn’t. <em> Patience </em>.</p><p>Fraser laid his right hand against the side of Grey’s neck, fingers strong and palm calloused as it cradled his jaw. John could have wept. Instead, he broke the kiss but did not pull back. The points where they touched each other were anchors on a wild sea, mooring them together. They were too close to lock eyes now, connected by grasping hands and mingled breath. This was without a doubt, the single most extraordinary moment of Grey’s life.</p><p>John released Fraser’s arm so that he could unclasp his cloak with his left hand, and wrapped it around both of their shoulders. He brought their joined hands to rest on his own thigh, making room for them to sit close together, touching from shoulder to knee, sharing the other’s warmth under the cloak. They sat in silence for a moment, Grey noting every singular detail. “You have the power here, Mr. Fraser,” John whispered. “I cannot change the past, cannot undo what has been done. But perhaps I can give you back some of what was taken from you.”</p><p>“Ye may use my Christian name.” The next kiss startled John, knocked him off balance for a moment, but his left hand found Jamie’s shoulder and he recovered. The stars aligned and choirs of angels sang “Hallelujah” because James Fraser kissed Lord John Grey. </p><p>*~*~* </p><p>There were a number of singularly extraordinary moments that night. They lay together atop Grey's cloak spread over the soft grass, the fallen log now a redoubt between their stolen refuge and the distant manor. Fraser's head rested on John's bare chest, his breath warm and tickling across his own most recent, puckered scars. The Scot had left his shirt on, which gave Grey the faintest pang of regret. He understood though, and was happy to allow his friend this small feeling of security. John rested one palm flat on Fraser’s back, the rough fabric coarse under his touch, but Fraser's fiery hair was silken through the fingers of his other hand. He toyed with Fraser’s hair lazily, combing his fingers through the ruddy mane, damp near his scalp with sweat. Their naked legs tangled together with a drowsy sort of abandon. If he tilted his head just so, John could make out the curve of Fraser’s firm buttocks, framed by the rucked up hem of his shirt. </p><p>Fraser traced the outline of one of Grey’s scars, a round collection of dark flesh under the dim light of the moon. “These are fresh,” he murmured. “How’d ye come by them?”</p><p>“A cannon exploded,” John answered. “Some of the shrapnel moved away from the entrance wounds and the surgeon went hunting for them. He couldn’t find it all.”</p><p>“Mmhmm,” Fraser hummed, then turned his head and laid a kiss atop the scar, sending shockwaves of delight rippling across Grey’s torso. </p><p>"James," Grey whispered. </p><p>They had undressed--save for Fraser's shirt--and begun acquainting their bodies to one another by touching all the other's scars, marking the sore and damaged places with gentleness. Fraser's back remained off limits by unspoken agreement but he permitted John to touch the crisscrossed mass of scars with the shirt as a barrier. They did not speak of the wounds, the imperfections on their flesh. When John had reached the long slice on Fraser's inner thigh, he had kissed the length of it. Making his way from the bottom to the top, he pressed his lips to every inch of the marred skin. </p><p>With Fraser's face now nestled into Grey's chest, he discovered a scar he hadn't noticed before in Fraser's scalp. He traced the line of it with his thumb, noting to himself that it was very old and faded.</p><p>"Axe," James said by way of explanation. "Many years ago."</p><p>It was John's turn to hum. He had questions, yearned to hear the tale of each and every wound on Fraser's magnificent body, but he would not ask. If he wanted John to know, he'd volunteer it. John could be content with the honor of having touched them.</p><p>Fraser laid his head on Grey's chest again and sighed. It was the sound of a man who feels safe and content and quite apart from the world beyond the immediate. Grey smiled and could have wept with joy to hear it. <em> Dear God, how I love you </em>, he thought. </p><p>The cool breeze blew across them, mingling with the scent of the two of them, of their union, creating something new and foreign. Grey licked his lips, tasting in memory the salty musk of Fraser's cock as it had grown hard in his mouth. They had taken their time through it all. Grey had allowed Fraser to touch and explore his body at his own pace, while he had concentrated all of his attention on the Scot’s pleasure and comfort. With a single-minded effort, he had focused completely on communicating with Fraser’s flesh in a language that he could understand. As a very fortunate consequence, John had committed to memory every single moment. Every movement, every sigh, every caress was indelibly etched on his heart and mind forever.</p><p>Especially the instant that he had looked at John, expression completely unguarded, naked hunger in his eyes. Fraser had wanted him and Grey’s decision to open to him, to give himself over was instantaneous and entirely free of misgivings. He took Grey, and John had embraced the initial pain, suppressing a wince. Fraser seemed thrown rather off balance, too conscious of his own movements. Grey had taken his face in his hands, Fraser’s stubble rasping against his fingers. “You don’t have to think,” he breathed. “Just feel, James. Feel me. Feel us. Do what feels good. You won’t hurt me. We are safe with each other.”</p><p>John had made sure that Fraser finished first. The Scot had gripped John’s shoulders as he spilled into him and it was four more strokes of his fist until he’d spurted his own release onto his stomach. They collapsed in a heap, and John wrapped his arms around Fraser in a sheltering embrace, nudging the collar of his shirt aside with his cheek to lay kisses at the juncture of his throat. “Perfect. You’re perfect, James.” John’s lips brushed the other man’s skin as I spoke, punctuating his words with more kisses. “And you are safe.” Kiss. “And so loved.”</p><p>James nodded. “Aye.”</p><p>The body atop him now was warm and solid and Grey felt as if the night could swallow them entirely. “You should sleep, if you can,” John whispered, smoothing the tangled mass of red hair from Fraser’s forehead. “I’ll keep watch and ensure that we are back well before first light.” There wasn’t a way for John to kiss his mouth nor to bury it in his thick hair without disturbing him, so he took Fraser’s right hand in his and touched his lips to the scars at the base of his ring finger. By the time John had replaced the hand on his side, Fraser’s breathing had slowed to the steady rhythm of peaceful sleep.</p><p>*~*~*</p><p>The earliest birds began to stir across the dark moor. “James,” Grey whispered, running his fingers through Fraser’s hair, down his back and arms. They had perhaps two hours until dawn. More than enough time to return to their respective beds and no one else the wiser.</p><p>Fraser stirred, breathing in deeply through his nose and nuzzling his cheek against Grey's chest. Grey smiled, scratching his blunt fingernails against Fraser's scalp in a more forceful caress. "Jamie," he said, and the familiar use of the other man's name sent ecstatic jolts fluttering around his heart. He didn't dare use it often.  "We need to go now."</p><p>"Aye," came the sleep-roughened reply, and Fraser sat up, reaching for his breeches and stockings. </p><p>John sat as well, feeling the dull, distant rawness in his ass with a surprising quantity of pleasure. This discomfort was fading, would be gone too soon, but for now he could savor the secret reminder. </p><p>The two men dressed in companionable silence and Grey thought that maybe they had done some good between them. When he looked into Fraser's eyes, calm and alert in the dark, Grey knew this would never happen again. But it had happened at all, and John could carry the memory of it with him, even though his heart was breaking.</p><p>They walked across the moor toward the stable, close to each other but at a sufficient distance that a casual observer would only see two friends. They spoke of inconsequential things as they walked. The weather, horses, hunting. There were no lights in the stable as they approached. John desperately wished to drag Fraser behind one of the ancient trees that lined the yard and kiss him thoroughly one last time. But that would be a bridge too far. Instead, they shared a final, lingering glance, a friendly nod, and they parted ways at the stable door without breaking their stride.</p><p>Lord John made his way up the back stair and crept into his room without passing another soul. He shut the door behind him and fell against it. "Oh, Christ," he muttered into the empty darkness and ran one hand over his face. "Sweet Jesus." He was exhausted to the bone and his turned-down bed beckoned him, despite the flurry of thoughts and emotions warring within him. </p><p>Pushing himself away from the door at last, Grey undressed, leaving his clothes flung carelessly over a chair. He collapsed into the plush mattress stark naked, dragging the linens up to his chest. His fingers brushed the scar that Jamie had kissed and he shivered.</p><p>Come dawn it would all be a dream. Fraser would bring his horse when Grey was ready to leave, and they would exchange a gentlemanly farewell, and they would never speak of it again. There would be no passionate encore, no stolen rendezvous, no unsigned love letters between them. </p><p>If Lord John had been a praying man, he would have prayed for Fraser's soul, prayed that he had helped to restore some small fracture in his heart. </p><p>And if he had, Grey would never know. </p><p>*~*~*</p><p>Lord John awoke to the sound of someone shaking out some heavy garment with more force than was strictly necessary. The curtains had been drawn back to reveal the dim haze of early morning, the rising sun prying it's cheerful way under his eyelids, <em> God damn it </em>. He groaned and covered his face with both hands.</p><p>"Oh, you're awake, my lord." Tom Byrd's voice was patently sarcastic and revealed to Lord John that he bloody well had intended to wake him up.</p><p>
  <em> Damn him, too. </em>
</p><p>Grey grunted in confirmation.</p><p>Tom continued his assessment of the damage, <em> tsking </em>and clucking his tongue in utter disapproval, brushing Grey's abandoned cloak with a vengeance. </p><p>"I don't understand it, my lord. This cloak was clean and hanging in the wardrobe after you retired last night, and now there's mud and grass all over it." Tom shook his head in confusion.</p><p>"Thank you, Tom," Lord John said, hauling himself into an upright position, the bedclothes gathered over his lap.</p><p>Byrd stared at Grey, mouth hanging open in a caricature of shock and stalked across the room to the bedside. Tom tossed the clothes in his hand onto the foot of the bed and descended on Grey's hair. "What in the devil have you been doing, my lord? It will take me an hour to comb out the knots and leaves. Is that tree bark?"</p><p>Lord John tried to duck away from Tom's furious prodding but his faithful valet would not be evaded. Very worried eyes bore into Grey's from less than a foot away. </p><p>"Are you in some kind of trouble? I can help if--"</p><p>Lord John held up a hand to silence him. "My dear Tom," he began in a calm, measured tone. "Your concern for my welfare is quite touching. I am fine. Nothing is amiss. You have my word." </p><p>Tom's eyes narrowed in a blatant expression of skepticism. </p><p>Grey sighed and cast pleading eyes up at his valet.. "Would you please send for a very great deal of coffee and help to make me more presentable? And then never, ever speak of this ever again?”</p><p>Tom made a show of considering the request for a moment. He knew the younger man would agree. Tom Byrd was extraordinarily loyal. Grey hoped that it was only a result of sleep deprivation and an emotional night, but a wave of gratitude and affection swelled within him, burning his eyes.</p><p>The charade concluded, and Tom nodded with a sweet smile. “Very good, my lord.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Update 13 September 2020: I have officially added this story to the Gods of War series as the first installment.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>